Everything Burns
by Kamaka
Summary: Time is running out. LJ is on the run, Veronica and Nick can't stay hidden forever and Sara has connected the dots. With the date of escape and the date of exicution coming up, Michael's going to have to figure out a solution very soon.
1. She sits in her corner

"Don't make me lie to you, please."

Michael's eyes went from the paper to Sara's eyes and back again. Every possible explanation or excuse went out of his mind as her eyes bore into him, far more confused than angry. Extended before him, just out of reach of his fingertips, was the press announcement that his old firm had been selected to design Fox River Penitentiary.

"How did you find that?" Michael asked, going with the accusatory route.

"How did I find this?" Sara repeated, "well when I was informed that Prison Industries would never clean out toxic mold from the air vents, I snooped around and found this."

"Dr. Tacrenderi?" A guard stuck his head in. Sara turned to him, the paper hidden behind her back, "are you almost finished?"

"Yes," She said, "I'll call you when I'm done."

He nodded and vanished.

"Do you even need this?" she demanded holding up the insulin. Michael's eyes never left hers as he slowly shook his head, "do you have any idea how much damage this could have done to your system?"

"Yes," came the flat reply.

"Of course you did," Sara said throwing the still-full syringe into the biohazard box. Stripping off her gloves, she turned around to find Michael standing right next to her. She looked up into his eyes, her heart hammering wildly in her chest.

"Please, don't say anything," he said, his eyes boring into her. The way he looked at her, Sara fought against every instinct that screamed for her to tell the guard to lock him away. She turned her face, missing the flash of pain in his eyes. The guard came in and grabbed him, "it's in your hands," he whispered before they pulled him out.

**888**

Michael sat weakly on the bed.

'This is not happening' he thought furiously. All his careful planning, all the dedication could not be foiled so easily. All he had to do was think, change his plan, move his deadlines—but even as his mind whirred he knew it was useless. He closed his eyes and tried to think of some way to fix it.

"Fish?"

His eyes opened and he looked up at Sucre. His cell mate looked down at him with quiet understanding, by far the most serious look he head seen in Sucre's eyes.

"Anything we can do?" he asked.

"No," Michael said, "not tonight," he corrected himself, "get some sleep, we'll need it tomorrow."

"Night Fish," Sucre said rolling back onto his bunk. Michael turned over and looked at the wall, his eyes slowly closing as sleep took over. When he opened his eyes again, it was morning. He felt better than he had in a while, though he couldn't remember his dream for the life of him.

"Time to go see the doc," a guard said.

And everything crashed down.

**88**

He should have seen it coming. He sat down, his heart pounding. Sara was waiting, sitting on one of the stools, needle laid out. Pulling on gloves, she spun around to face him, holding a glucose meter. She took his blood sugar silently, her face not reacting at the read out. Turning to him, she picked up the needle.

"I'm injecting you with something to counteract the Insulin," she said filling the syringe. Grasping his elbow firmly, she injected him. Discarding it and pulling off her gloves she turned to the report in front of her, "do you have any idea how this could affect your system?"

"Yes," he said.

Sara walked over to him.

"That first day, when you said the quote by Ghandi, I didn't think about it—but now," she nodded, "now I realize I've been a part of your plan from the beginning."

"Sara—" he began.

"Was the riot part of it too? Gain the Governor's daughter's trust? Or was it gain the doctor who's infirmary leads right to the outside world?" the venom in her voice was un-mask able. Michael stood up abruptly and headed for the door, "because now it's very clear. Why someone like you would get themselves locked in a place like this."

He froze, his hand against the doorknob.

"You're trying to get out."

Michael kept his eyes on the doorknob, but his voice was harsh and meant for her.

"I told you about my brother telling me to face my fears. He's a good man, an innocent one no matter what anybody says and I will not sit back and let a man like your father kill him."

Pulling open the door, he walked out. Sara leaned against the desk and pressed her hands to her forehead, trying to clear the thoughts tumbling through her head.


	2. Singing herself to sleep

Sara looked around her infirmary. For the first time, she looked at it through an inmate's eyes. The window offered a clear view of the walls. She knew (courtesy of Michael) that the crawl space above led strait to an exit.

Frowning, Sara squatted down beside the grate in the ground and ran her fingertips over it. Blinking, she tilted her head slightly, angling the light. Her eyes widened and she flattened herself on the ground, pressing her nose to the metal.

Just visible against the ground was a paper bird, folded perfectly, it's wings extended in flight. Sara tried to turn her head and see the bird more clearly but failed miserably. Turning again, she looked again. The bird was more distinct. It was a little worse for the wear, but it was recognizable, on either side extended darkness leading somewhere.

"Dr. Tacrendi?"

Sara jumped up, whipping around to see two guards with Lincoln Burrows between them. Sara licked her lips and nodded towards the table. The guards removed the cuffs and walked Lincoln towards the table, pushing him down onto it. Sara turned to her patient, pulling on gloves with surprisingly steady fingers.

"You know."

Sara almost jumped again. She didn't expect the deep throated rumble behind her, or to find Lincoln still sitting on the table, a look of quiet resolve on his face. Sara picked up her stethoscope and approached him cautiously.

"You don't have to answer, you'd find out sooner or later," he said, breathing in for her, "I knew it wouldn't work."

"What?" she asked, drawing back. Lincoln didn't look at her, his eyes were focused elsewhere.

"Michael's plan," he elaborated, "he destroyed his entire life for nothing."

"You're not nothing," Sara said automatically. Lincoln laughed.

"Thanks for the concern," he said. Sara scribbled something on the paper, "just do me a favor, he's gonna be in here for a while after I'm gone. Keep an eye on him?"

Before she could stop herself she nodded. Lincoln nodded his thanks and left with the guards, just as Michael stepped into the room. Sara barely had time to wipe the tears out of her eyes before turning to him.

"Sit down," she said motioning to the table, "no effects from the drugs I hope?"

"None," came the stoic reply.

"Good," she said, "give me your arm."

He extended it. Sara grabbed it and pushed back the sleeve, turning it over with a satisfied nod. Michael inhaled sharply. She was looking directly at the banner on his forearm, the one that said: English, Fitz, Percy.

"Tell me," she said, "what are the chances of you knowing three people with the same names as the streets that lead out of the prison?"

"High," Michael said coldly. Sara pushed the sleeve back further and injected him with the drug again. Rolling his sleeve down, Michael sat on the table as Sara put back her supplies, keenly aware of his eyes on her back.

"Why haven't you said anything?" Michael asked finally. Sara's hand shook at the sound of his voice, but she forced it to be still. Stripping off her gloves, she was careful to keep her eyes away from his.

"Because, I do owe you for saving my life in that riot," she said, "so I'm not going to say anything. But don't expect my help either," she added sternly, "in a week I'm going to be finished with this drug treatment and you can only come in my infirmary once a week."

"Fine," he said standing up.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked abruptly.

"Because," Michael said, "he's my brother."

**88**

A week later, Michael was lying in his cell when the guard slammed it open. Pushing himself up with a confused glance at Sucre, he stood up reaching for his blue button-down shirt.

"Come on," the guard said.

"Where?" Michael asked.

"The infirmary," the guard said, exasperated, "unless you'd rather not have your insulin?"

Hiding a smile, Michael followed the guard out of his cell and down the hall, completely forgetting his button down shirt in the cell. He followed the guard into the infirmary where Sara was waiting. Sitting down cautiously on the bed, he looked at her puzzled.

"You said—"

"I know," she said, "but then I got this."

Michael looked at it and felt his heart stop. They had moved Lincoln's execution date up again: this time to a week from that day. The room had suddenly gotten very dark and cold. Michael could feel his pulse speed up and his breathing become labored. Sara was by him in a flash.

"It's okay," she said, "lie back, it's a side effect of your bouncing insulin levels."

He gasped, unable to talk, breath or even think. Sara grabbed a syringe and vial of liquid, preparing the injecting and pushing it into his upper arm. The effect wasn't instantaneous and wouldn't be. Sara grabbed Michael's face between her hands, forcing him to look at her.

"Michael look at me, Michael," she said a little more loudly. His eyes locked on hers, his pupils dilating and contracting rapidly as they struggled to focus, "everything's going to be alright. You're going to save your brother."

"I c-can't," he managed to choke out furiously, his eyes watering. Sara felt something inside her break, maybe it was her resolve, at the sight of him. He looked so scared, so fragile, all he wanted to do was help his brother—the only family he had.

"Yes you can," she said firmly, "and I'm going to help you."


	3. Wrapped in all of the Promises

**Anon—2nd half's shooting over to Nick and Veronica. **

**Marie—The song is "Everything Burns" by Ben Moody and Anastacia. **

**For all the other reviewers: thanks! You make me want to write more…which I did. **

**88**

The faint scratching of a pen was what woke Michael. It pricked deep in his conscious and brought him slowly out of sleep. He immediately knew he was not in his cell, the place he was smelled too clean to be his dirty prison cell. Tentatively he opened his eyes and was met with the sight of the infirmary. He was lying on the exam bed, someone had pulled a sheet over him.

Turning his head, he saw Sara hunched over something on her desk, scratching things down on a file. The only light was from her desk lamp. It seemed to light up her red hair and silhouette her face beautifully. Michael let himself relax for what seemed like the first time in too long and just watch her.

As if she felt someone's eyes on her, Sara turned around and gave him a small smile.

"Hey," she said standing up and coming over, "how are you feeling?"

If both of them pretended, they could imagine they were a million miles away and as close to normal as either of them could be. They could imagine they were just dating—hell if they were dreaming maybe they were married. But the bars on the windows brought them to the reality.

"Weak," he admitted. She nodded. He craned his head and smiled slightly. Lying on her desk amid the papers were several failed attempts at a paper crane. She followed his gaze and blushed, "saw it in the grate and couldn't resist huh?" she nodded, "here," he said. She picked up a piece of paper and handed it to him.

"So who else is involved in this?" she asked after a minuet.

"My cellmate," he said, eyes on the paper, "Lincoln, Abruzzi—" he trailed off, "TBag."

"TBag?" Sara asked, her eyes narrowing.

"Not by my choice," he said turning the paper over and continuing to fold with precise movements, "during the riot, he got involved."

"He killed that guard," Sara said quietly. Michael nodded, but she could see the pain flash across his face even in the darkness. Slowly she reached out and laid a hand against his bare arm, squeezing it tightly. Michael tensed at the contact and Sara wondered if she'd made a mistake, but he offered his other hand.

Lying in his palm was a neatly folded paper crane, it's wings spread in silent flight. Sara smiled and plucked it from his palm, looking at the bird, then back at Michael, her eyes trying to find out the secrets both possessed.

"Thank you," she said meeting his eyes, "it's beautiful."

"Yes," Michael agreed, "it is."

**88**

Veronica lay on the bed, moonlight spilling in from the windows. LJ was by her, sound asleep. Veronica's arms were still wrapped tightly around the young man, as they had been since they'd made it back to the house. LJ's face was still streaked with tears that had yet to dry.

He had cried himself to sleep.

Veronica had held him tightly, telling him everything would be alright and willing herself to believe it as well. In the next room, Nick was concealing a message to Lincoln in papers to send over. He had apologized for his earlier words, telling her he thought she deserved better

It had taken her a while to figure out what he meant. When she did she almost kicked herself for being so obvious. Nick was right, she did deserve better—much better—but she didn't want 'better' or 'perfect'.

She just wanted him.

Tightening her grip on LJ as she felt him shake, she thought about trying to move on. About becoming engaged, then becoming entangled in this fiasco, about still being in love with 'youthful offender' Lincoln Burrows.

He could have been anything. He was certainly smart enough, not that he'd admit it to anyone. He didn't have Michael's genius or her drive, but he had a quiet brilliance about him, something he'd rather hide than show.

She wondered if Michael knew his brother graduated high school.

He had left in the tenth grade, but when he was in prison he started taking courses and eventually passed. Not that he'd admit to anyone, much less his brother who he thought deserved to live a normal life. That plan felt through when Michael got himself thrown in prison.

She felt LJ relax again and heard his breathing even out. Smoothing back his hair, she sighed and looked at him, praying her lies would become the truth.

Praying this would all be over soon.


End file.
